Out of Character
by The Light Of Elendil
Summary: Sherlock seems to be acting oddly...


Sherlock Homes.

He sits, curled up in an armchair, uncomfortably comfortable with a laptop holding the scars and dents of many months of carelessness. His expression remains unreadable and he types quickly, his clammy hands floating over the surface of many labelled keys, he makes not one mistake or misplaced full stop to the webpage he owns.

"Sherlock?" The 'ever-so-slightly-intoxicated' man across the room questions him softly,

"Yes?" He replies, not bothering to look up from his computer screen, nor to stop typing, aware of his friends rambling earlier that evening, he assumed conversation would not be a high point,

"Have you ever been in love?" John asked in an almost sing song voice, maybe he had bought a little more gin than Sherlock had supposed,

He finally tore his eyes away from the page to turn to face John "Perhaps, once." He said confidently, "But love is nothing to concern me now." He continued plainly, "As I said I'm-"

"Married to your work... Yeah" Watson interrupted in a mumble. "But seriously, do you feel any compassion in that head of yours?"

"I often feel concern for the safety of some humans,"

"Not concern. Do you not have the ability to feel anything but the odd 'concern' now and again? Doesn't it ever get lonely in there?" John's grin increased with every word he said, Sherlock was sure he wasn't too many sips of gin away from slurring his words.

Sherlock took a moment to type a last sentence before replying, "Lonely?" He echoed John, "Never, there's not enough time in life to bore yourself with loneliness, and it never really gets boring does it?" He said, his voice with no inflection, but he managed to throw a little smile in John's direction,

"Yes but... Loneliness has nothing to do with boredom. You know the Sherlock with no friends? Because he doesn't have any compassion!" John was starting to lose sense of what he was saying, yet Sherlock continued to converse with him like any other normal conversation,

"On the contrary, I'm too odd for friends, remember? Besides, I have you, don't I?"

"I s'pose. But I'm not really enough to bring out any emotion in you. Let's face is Sherlock... You're the loneliness person I've ever met. It's you don't feel... You don't feel anything." John was still grinning, the smile that was starting to grate on Sherlock's nerves.

"I assure you, I feel the emotions it is necessary for me to feel. I don't have time for love or compassion. Humans, we live then we die, it's ridiculously simple. It would make sense for us to use the time we have for something interesting, as opposed to boring ourselves with the chore of love and routine. Routine is boring" He retorted.

"Typical Sherlock, no emotions whatsoever," John slurred the last few words of his sentence,

Sherlock said nothing; continuing typing relentlessly until his paragraph was finished and shutting his laptop with a carelessness that could've smashed the screen if it were glass.

His face was unreadable as he got to his feet and walked to John, lounging on the couch.

"Sher- Hey!"

He snatched the clear bottle of gin from his hands and went to put it somewhere safer, "You're not the only one who gets thirsty, perhaps you should get some sleep." Said Sherlock, his voice as monotone as it could possibly be.

With the snap of the fridge door he stalked off upstairs, in a strop John supposed; wondering what he had done to provoke this as he drifted to sleep on the couch.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you like some food?"

"Not hungry"

"Are you sure?"

"Certain."

"You haven't eaten all day"

"I haven't been hungry all day."

Sherlock's tone of voice told John he wasn't in the mood for an argument, neither playful nor sincere. In fact, Sherlock hasn't been in the mood to do anything all day, he had been on the couch, silent for hours. This wasn't unusual for Sherlock, but this day, he just seemed odd, a little different to his usual 'thinking' self.

'Are you okay, Sherlock?' John asked, softly.

Sherlock, who lie sprawled out on the couch, his head resting on his palm, sighed audibly. "Completely and utterly fine, John. Stop asking."

"You've been silent all day, you haven't been eating, you went to bed late last night but you haven't drifted off to sleep on that couch and you're not using your nicotine patches, you're not reading, writing, humming, talking, mumbling to yourself. You're not doing anything." John uttered, his voice still soft with concern,

"I'm thinking. Please, leave me alone."

There was something in his voice, something John couldn't pick out. He could probably identify it in any other person- Sherlock's analytical personality seems to rub off on people occasionally. Yet, as always, Sherlock remains unreadable.

Being too lazy to make food for himself, John lounged in an armchair with an open tin of Heinz beans (Because, let's face it. You don't get better than Heinz). Turning the television quiet he attempted to concentrate...

"Stop doing that, John."

John pretended not to have heard the man on the couch,

"Glancing at me, stop it."

For a moment John looked like he might reply, but instead he turned to face to television again, refusing to look away.

Rubbing his tired eyes, Sherlock sat up, staring directly at the wall. For a moment it seemed upset flickered upon his face, but this was hidden by a hard stare at the wall.  
>He got to his feet and walked swiftly to the kitchen, facing a window, he gripped the granite counter until his knuckles went white (a somewhat whiter white than they already were).<p>

"Sherlock..." The gentle voice sounded behind him, "I don't understand."

"What's not to understand, I needed to think. So I thought."

"This is not like you... you're acting, odd" Muttered John, placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Is this about what I said last night?"

"I'm surprised you remember." Sighed Sherlock, "I am fine."

"I am not prepared to leave this room without an explanation as to what is wrong with you?" Said John, stubbornly.

"Jonathan." Sherlock rarely called John Jonathan, "This is nothing, Just nothing. Please leave it."

"Talk to me, Sherlock." John begged,

Sherlock sighed again, staring into the sink, it was several moments until he spoke, "How can one human being feel so little compassion?" He asked gently,

"I'm sorry," Mumbled John... "I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine." Sherlock said plainly, turning to face John,

To John Watson's surprise Sherlock's face was streaked with tears, "Sherlock..." He uttered, wrapping his arms around the black haired man, feeling slightly uncomfortable with this situation. Sherlock buried his face in John's shoulder, breaking down into what felt like floods of tears. Sherlock had never acted like this, and John was around him a lot, he generally remained his content, genius self.

"Do I not feel like a human?" Sherlock asked, his velvety voice cracking slightly,

"I'm sure you do"

"Don't lie, you made your feelings towards this clear last night"

"I was drunk, Sherlock. You're showing emotion plainly right now!" Watson admitted, "I'm here..."

Sherlock pulled away, gripping John's shoulders and staring him in the eyes, "I don't get lonely." He said quickly, "I get bored."

"Sherlo-"

Sherlock drew in close, their faces almost touching, stunning John. "You looked at me oddly from the very start" He said softly and quietly, "I can't diagnose emotions exactly, but I could see the way you looked at me when we first spoke. It was in plain sight" He spoke quickly and breathlessly, in almost a whisper.

"What are you talking about?"

John could feel Sherlock's shaky breath upon his lips, "I've intrigued you from the start, haven't I?"

"You intrigue everybody."

"I've never intrigued anyone for them to let go of several perfectly lovely female dates,"

"I... I-" John was lost for words, so Sherlock leaned forward a little, allowing their lips to touch slowly in a brief kiss.

John looked utterly stunned, and for once Sherlock feared he might have misinterpreted something, but alas, this time John leaned forward, kissing Sherlock again, prolonging the kiss, the men wrapped their arms around each other.

Sherlock, being the somewhat predictable Sherlock, returned to his normal self the next day, almost as if the previous night had never happened, but even he knew it couldn't be conceived as nothing. He certainly felt for John Watson, an emotion he hadn't felt for some time. And John was aware of this, although Sherlock never showed any close affection towards him.


End file.
